Cheesecake
by Tea-Cub
Summary: John has cheesecake. Gordon wants it. Gen fic, TV verse.


Title: Cheesecake 

Summary: John has cheesecake. Gordon wants it.

Author: Ellie ET

Disclaimer: I do not own it. Gerry Anderson does.

This particular little piece was beta'ed by Tikatu with some pretty good results, so I adore her for it and can't thank her enough. Muchos thankees, my friend!

This fic is dedicated to Mad-Friend, for being such a great penpal, and simply because she absolutely _brims_ with a wonderful personality and is an individual of complete and utter rock-ability. Sorry I've been so cross, darlin'! I'm feeling much better, now! I hope you enjoy this as much as anyone else!

Cheesecake 

"Aw, come on – "

"What part of 'no' don't you understand?"

"Just one small bite – one tiny little bite."

John groaned and raised his eyes to the ceiling, holding his plate in one hand and away from its pursuer. "You're not getting any. It's my cheesecake; I got it from Grandma."

"Ah!" Gordon inched closer, his hungry eyes on the cake slice. "But didn't she tell you to share it?"

John sputtered. "What! People give others cake because they _want _them to have it! I don't have to share it!"

"Well, you're going to have to, 'cause I'm not leaving until I get some."

John stretched his arm, holding the plate of blueberry cheesecake even further away than before so that it hovered over the pool table. "You'll have to eat your words in a minute, because if you don't leave, I will."

"You can run from the rec room, but you can't run from the redhead!" Now looking positively wicked, Gordon stepped closer, one hand stretched out towards the cake as though he would like nothing more than to grab it and run. John saw his fingers twitch and backed away a few steps, one finger held up in warning.

"If you grab it, the whole slice'll fall apart and you'll have to explain to Dad why there's cream and blueberries all over the recreation room floor. And you're wasting your time. I don't know how many times I have to say it, but you are not getting any of it."

Gordon gave a pathetic dog-like whine. "But I'm starved! I'm dying of hunger."

His blonde brother raised an eyebrow, his grip on the plate tightening. "Oh no, sob, boo-hoo," he said in an unmistakably dry tone. "Go and ask Grandma if you're that desperate."

"Are you kidding? I've been banned from the kitchen and not just until further notice."

John nodded. "Good thing, too. Have I made my point now? Are you going to leave?"

"It's your conscience, bro. I'm sure you wouldn't be able to sleep at night knowing you let your own brother go hungry while you treated yourself to blueberry cheesecake."

The space monitor fought an overwhelming desire to laugh. "I don't know about that."

Gordon eyed him worriedly, not seeing any signs of his brother weakening. _I guess I'll have to try harder…_

"Well, I was hoping I wouldn't have to resort to this," he said with an overly dramatic sigh and a careless wave of his hand. "But I guess you leave me no choice."

"Yeah? Is that a threat?" John licked at some cream that had dropped onto his thumb because of the possessive grip in which he was holding the cake.

"Basically, if you don't give me that cake, I'll have to start singing," the redhead said solemnly, managing to avert his eyes from the sight of John feeding himself on the very thing that he was longing for.

John's eyes widened with horror for only a second before he managed to get a grip and narrowed them at his brother.

"I'll have to bear it out, won't I?" he said, trying to keep his voice indifferent while making an inward vow to have Scott hide Gordon's Walkman and CDs the first chance he got.

Gordon's reaction was just as he predicted: the redhead blinked at him, looking both worried and infuriated.

"You're really determined to keep your hold on that cake, aren't you?"

"Definitely." John gripped the plate more firmly, now thoroughly certain that if he wasn't so desperate to eat the creamy treat, he'd throw the whole thing in Gordon's face.

"OK." Gordon shrugged his shoulders, and turned his back on him. The blonde knew that this wasn't the end of the battle, but that didn't stop him from almost losing it as Gordon spun back around smartly, having the nerve to do what every one of his fellow terrible singers were encouraged _not_ to do.

"I saw her agaaaain last night, and you know that I shoooouldn't – to string her aloooong's just not right – "

John shut his eyes and willed himself not to do something stupid that involved a heavy spade and a shallow grave. This was his cake; he'd gotten it especially. He knew he couldn't give it up now.

"I-I-I don't care where you've been – you-ain't-been-nowhere-till-you-been-innnnnNNNNN!" Gordon glanced at his brother, and almost shrieked with irritation as he watched John's free hand, the one that was quite obviously eager to strangle him, still stuffed in John's pocket, a clear sign thatJohnwasn't letting up yet. Deciding not to taint the name of the Mamas and The Papas any longer, Gordon ended his songs on a most definitely not sweet note. He had a tough opponent here.

"Look, just one bite!" he cried, almost certain that he would start sobbing with longing as he stared at the cake. But John held up a firm front.

"Look, you can sing, you can burn me with white-hot pokers, you can bury me in the sand, you can stone me to death with stale bread rolls, you can play Robbie Williams on repeat." The blonde stood his ground, his eyes narrowed. "But you will never, ever get this cake off me."

As he was speaking, he was taking a few nonchalant steps backwards and before he knew what he was doing, his legs had bumped into the pool table behind him. Surprised and jilted off-guard, John's grip on the plate containing the cake loosened, and he would have dropped it if his other hand hadn't automatically flown in to grab the plate at an awkward angle. Alarmed, cream dripping from the cake onto his fingers, he quickly placed it onto the pool table and licked his palm where the bulk of cream had gathered.

"Wowee – that was close!" He turned his attention back to the cake, unaware of his brother's reaction behind him.

Seeing the cake no longer in John's grip and watching him lick the stray cream, Gordon snapped. He ran toward the pool table where the cake lay with only one goal in mind: to grab the cake and flee. En route, he tripped over a slight scuff in the carpet and bumped into his brother, who had just picked the cake back up, and sent both him and the plate flying. The two landed across the pool table as the cake flew through the air. Picking himself up, Gordon glanced up and gaped at where the cake had landed.

"Gordon! What the heck were you - !" Angrily, John sat up and then blinked at his brother's expression. "What's the matter?"

Wordlessly, Gordon pointed at the opposite wall. Following his gaze, John's face turned into an expression to match the redhead's as he saw the cake squashed against the wall by the plate. Blueberry juice was running down the wall to the beginnings of a small puddle on the floor and there was no mistaking that when the plate was taken away, there would be a heavy white smear standing out starkly against the paint. As both men watched, the plate detached, and John and Gordon both closed their eyes automatically as it fell to the floor with a smash. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

"Ah…" John said finally. He turned his head and his eyes met Gordon's. He could tell what the redhead was thinking.

"I didn't mean to," the redhead muttered. "You – you wouldn't tell Dad – "

His voice trailed off at the sight of John's humourless smile.

"Gordon, that's the last worry on my mind at the moment."

"What? Oh, no." Gordon held a hand to his forehead. "She's going to kill us."

"I don't think she'll stop there, to be honest." John eyed the mess in front of his eyes. "Right – we can't tell her just yet."

"What? Aw – you don't mean – ?" Gordon groaned as his brother nodded.

"Yeah. You get the dustpan and brush; I'll get a bowl of soapy water. And if you don't help me clean up, I'll tell Grandma it was all your fault."

"_My _fault? You were the one who threw it!"

"Yeah, thanks to you."

"Fine, fine," the redhead grumbled. "I'll be back in a sec." He left the games room, leaving John to eye the mess on the floor. Observing the broken plate shards, and deciding it was better to be safe than sorry, John picked up the smallest bits from the floor and threw them in the bin so that neither he nor Gordon would get hurt. As he turned to walk out of the door, he saw a sight that would haunt him forever: a livid Grandma Tracy standing in the doorway, her bulging eyes on the ruined cake.

"Ah…" John said again, unable to think of anything else to say.

"John Glenn Tracy." The woman's voice was a deadly whisper that all the Tracys had come to recognise as a sign to run for cover. "What has been going on here?"

John squeezed his eyes shut and stared at the ceiling, praying that Gordon would return and save him, even as Grandma let rip with fast and angry repetitive words such as _thought you had more sense... all over the wall... your father... thought you had more sense... what were you thinking... never seen anything like it... THOUGHT YOU HAD MORE SENSE!_

At the height of Grandma's particularly painful tirade, Gordon returned, passing through the entrance on the other side of the room, dustpan and brush in hand. On seeing his Grandma shouting herself hoarse at John, he quickly took advantage of the situation. He hid the dustpan and brush under one of the chairs covered by a white sheet. Then he made his way towards the pair, a look of innocence pasted all over his face.

"Why Grandma, what happened?" he asked, in the most natural voice.

"What happened? I'll tell you what happened!" his Grandma croaked furiously. "Your brother just earned himself a week of washing-up, that's what's happened!"

Gordon glanced over at the wall, and gave out a false cry when he saw the creamy paint. "Well, John!" he tutted extra loudly, ignoring his brother's pointed glare. "I guess you'll have to give the wall a wash, won't you?"

Grandma Tracy nodded. "He sure will. Gordon, be a dear, get a bowl of water and a cloth will you, and bring it here so that your brother can clean up?"

Gordon smiled angelically. "Of course, Grandma. I won't spill any either. I'm not clumsy, you see." And he left the room again with relish, ignoring John's splutter behind him. On returning with the bowl, he put it on the floor next to the messy, cream-covered spot and threw a clean cloth to his brother.

"Well, I'd best go back to the kitchen." Grandma, now a great deal calmer, nodded her head at her red-haired grandson approvingly. "You take care of yourself now, Gordon, dear. And John? I want that wall spotless and those shards clear," she added threateningly, glaring at John who seemed to have lost the ability to talk. Then she turned and left the room.

Grinning wickedly, Gordon leaned close to John and whispered. "There's a dustpan and brush underneath one of the chairs. See you at dinner - I hope."

Then, rubbing his hands together jubilantly, he practically bounced out, leaving John clenching his fists together.

_You'd better run, _the blonde thought furiously, _'Cause when I finish with this, you're going to wish you'd never laid eyes on that cake…_

_Fin. Or is it?_


End file.
